changed, as though encountering lofty arches. In a couple of minutes a rattling of keys became audible, and some one could be heard, apparently descending a staircase. At last the door opened: a monk, standing on a narrow staircase, with the key and a candle in his hands, admitted them. Andríi involuntarily stopped short at the sight of a Catholic monk,—one of those who had aroused such hatred and disdain among the kazáks, who had treated them even more ruthlessly than they had treated the Jews.
The monk, on his side, started back at the sight of a Zaporozhian kazák; but an inaudible word uttered by the Tatár reassured him. He lighted them, locked the door behind them, and led them up the stairs; and they found themselves beneath the dark and lofty arches of the monastery church. Before one of the altars, adorned with tall candlesticks and candles, knelt a priest absorbed in silent prayer. Near him, on each side, knelt two young choristers in lilac cassocks, with white lace surplices, and censers in their hands. He was praying that heaven would send down miraculous intervention, that the city might be saved; that their drooping spirits might be strengthened; that patience might be given them; that the tempter, whispering complaint and weak-spirited grief over earthly misfortunes, might be banished. A few
